Blackberry Wine
by Starchild524
Summary: The Scanran War: Daine and Numair ponder the future of their relationship. Fluff and shipwork.


Author's Note: this is set sometime in the Scanran War, LK timeframe… I started so far back I can't remember. Effusive thanks to Candice for helping make it intelligible. :]

The premise of Tortall, its characters, properties, etc. are the creation and property of Tamora Pierce. I stole them… for a brief 1200 words.  
.. .. .. .. ..

Blackberry Wine

A sweetness dark as ink and dense as mountain fog touched her lips, slipped into her mouth, seemed to saturate her being. She rolled the liquid over her tongue, holding on to the sip until it slipped down her throat, releasing puffs of sparks inside her, warming her slowly. Daine squeezed her eyes shut briefly, then snapped them open, reveling in the feeling and in the new, lithe feel to the very air of the firelit room. She exhaled slowly, letting the pungent taste rise to her mouth once more.

"Wondrous." She favored Numair with a playful smile. "I'd otherwise have guessed it was some potion of yours, to put me under an spell."

He grinned back, the dancing light sliding over his features. "I can only hope, magelet, that I'm not yet so unwanted as to be forced to resort to such measures for your company."

"Oh, you'd have to knock me out cold to get me within six feet of you," Daine agreed before settling herself against his shoulder. She looked up at Numair with long-tested patience. "Never."

"Gratifying." He wrapped an arm around her. "Marenite vintage," he added, setting the bottle on the table. "Brewed from forest blackberries. A time-honored Midwinter tradition of the country - there are, in fact, a line of legends surrounding the drink -" he smiled reflectively without going further - "and, I might add, it's customarily diluted one part to four."

She gasped with mock outrage and smacked him lightly. "So you _are_ trying to addle me, aren't you!" After a moment she added graciously, "It it was anyone _else,_ I'd make him sorry."

They sat in pleasant silence for a minute, enjoying the evening's peace and one another's presence.

"So Vanget doesn't know how long you'll be needed at Northwatch?" she asked reluctantly.

His arm tightened around her. "None can tell. The fort's buildings and grounds must be sealed against fire, and the defenses spelled for protection. Northwatch has also been struggling with enemy mages recently - the shamans have apparently managed new developments, leaving our own forces regrettably the worse for it." His expression was grim. "You heard of the reports of dragonhide boils at Giantkiller? Apparently it… had less to do with flea-borne infections and more to do with cursework."

"_Magecraft?_"

Numair sighed heavily. "Giantkiller's Jayven Rydell made some progress on the spell analysis. The shamans don't seem to use any material agent such as water ingested or vapor inhaled, so there's nothing solid to work with until the spell is activated - which won't happen until the raiders strike again. I'll need to be there."

"Take care of yourself," she urged. "And I mean it. Don't think to try not sleeping again, I don't care if they _do _need a mage on the lookout for stealth spells." She bit her lip and added, "I only wish I could be there. But Raoul and Wyldon need quick messaging to keep in touch with Vanget, and things are moving fast in Hamrkeng - I might be crossing the border sometime to have a closer view of things."

He whistled softly. "Gods know you'll be the only one to do so, outside of our intelligence service."

"You could call me one of them." She grinned ruefully.

"Daine… be careful."

"Don't be silly. It's not as if anyone could recognize me if I didn't want them to - it's an advantage over the field agents, even."

He grimaced. "Sometimes I doubt how much more strain my nerves can take before they snap."

"Don't bother them," she suggested. "You know I can take care of myself."

He smiled thinly. "It's not that, magelet. I just can't help but wonder where it will all end."

She allowed herself a sigh. It was true - the months of war tended to erase one's sense of purpose or end. Too often the pride of fighting for the realm dissolved into the string of cold, dreary days and hardship, labor and losses and bad news upon worse. "You're not alone," she remarked.

"No," he said quietly, and Daine wasn't sure whether he was agreeing or disagreeing. "I think I'm just getting old."

The words struck a taut cord, sending vibrations of alarm through her. "You're not old," she protested.

He looked at once regretful and amused. "I don't know if you're one to speak, Daine. You're twenty-four. I'm -"

"Some years younger than the king, if I recall. And, no matter what the ladies might say," she added warmly, leaning back to study him, "every bit as good-looking."

For a moment she thought he'd been restored, as he smiled and pulled her onto his lap, their foreheads touching. Another moment passed. But when he spoke, his voice was solemn.

"Daine… I want you to promise me something. Before I leave."

Pained, she looked into his eyes, brought one hand up to his cheek. "You're coming back."

"Even beyond that. Beyond the war." She heard him draw a breath. "You and I both know - if, gods willing, we both live out our natural life spans - you will _probably _have at least a decade without me."

Daine looked down. "Don't say that," she said quietly.

He lifted her face to look at him. "That's just the thing, magelet. You can't keep ignoring the likelihood. It's true and you know it."

She said nothing, eyes tracing his features. Had he really changed in the eleven years she'd known him - aged? Hadn't she refused to see each new line around his mouth and eyes, each new gray hair? For the first time in years, she was afraid of the truth.

_Not now. Not now, in the middle of all this…._

"Daine." She was drowning in the depths of his eyes; his voice was scarcely above a whisper, but she heard nothing else. "Promise me that when I'm not here, you'll keep going."

Without him… she closed her eyes, lowered her head, tried to shrink away from the pact. She couldn't. With him gone, she couldn't go about her usual duties, couldn't speak to another, couldn't breathe the air knowing that no matter where she went, he was gone, lost to her forever. Couldn't exist, not with half of her missing.

"Promise me," he repeated, persistent.

A golden-haired woman's laughter rung through Daine's memory. Solid, shaggy ponies and the smell of bread baking and the pale faces of sweet pea blossoms flecked with dew. Forest trails and trudging through thigh-deep snow.

_I'll tell you later. Someday. Trust me._

She brushed that memory away.

_Sweetling, you don't need a man to live well. There's so much else. Trust me._

The thunder of hooves on the ground and chill-misted breath in the archery grounds at dawn and the softness of a friend's fur against her face. Freedom in the sky and seas and mountains - anywhere. Pillows of warm air under her wings.

She existed aside from him - didn't she?

She would.

She met his eyes again, took a breath. "I promise," she whispered, and managed a brave smile as he reached to wipe a tear from her cheek.


End file.
